


Combeferre Plays the Game (and Eponine Needs a Moment)

by ecrituredelafangirl



Series: Miserable Quidditch [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Combeferre is Ravenclaw Keeper, Cosette's Slytherin captain, Eponine is a Slytherin Chaser, F/M, I honestly think this occurs chronologically before both of the other parts, I think she came out well here, Light Angst, and I'm working on my Eponine, and he's the captain, but Ep gets detention during practice a lot sooooo, but they're really cute, but you can put it wherever you want in your head, he's a keeper you know, i meant to make it fluffy but then this happened, kind of, more Miserable Quidditch, nothing Combeferre can't handle, she and Ep are more co-captains, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredelafangirl/pseuds/ecrituredelafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eponine doesn't take compliments well. And Combeferre somehow manages to say all the right things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combeferre Plays the Game (and Eponine Needs a Moment)

“O, c’mon, Captain. Don’t tell me you’re _scared_ ,” the voice purred, and Combeferre sat bolt upright. He’d fallen asleep in an armchair in the common room again with about a thousand pieces of paper scattered on the tabletop in front of him, but that wasn’t what was concerning him right now. He stood up and walked over to the high windows, looking down upon the shadowed grounds as the sun peaked over the horizon. 

That was the most fucking realistic dream he had ever had. 

And it had been… _stimulating_ , to say the least. (Courfeyrac would have a more crude word for it) Combeferre couldn’t even put a face to the voice, but he knew he liked it. He wished he could remember more. 

He rubbed his face sleepily as he glanced down at his watch. Great, he thinks, exasperated. He had approximately four hours until the match against Slytherin and he was working on what he thinks is less than five hours of sleep. (‘Normal people would go to bed now,’ he heard Courfeyrac’s voice in his head.) Nevertheless, he turned back to his table. He was up now, he might as well finish the essay he had fallen asleep on top of the evening before. 

And that’s how Jehan found him, when he walked into the common room two and a half hours later. 

“Hey, Captain,” and he had to say it three times before Combeferre actually looked at him. “Don’t we have to be down at the pitch in half an hour?” 

Jehan was already decked out in his Quidditch robes, looking resplendent (and better put together than he had all week) in the blue. He had his broom slung over his shoulder, his hair braided back, and one beautiful eyebrow arched at his friend. 

Sometimes Combeferre was just hit with how incredibly _beautiful_ Jehan actually was. This morning, it seemed, was one of those times.

Combeferre looked down at his watch again. “Yeah. Half an hour,” he repeated, his voice rasping with exhaustion. Jehan’s eyes narrowed. 

“O, Merlin, Combeferre,” he said with quiet anger. “Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Yes, of course,” Combeferre said quickly. “More than usual, actually.” And then he yawned and Jehan rolled his eyes. 

“If you nod off during a match again-”

“That was _practice_ Jehan. Not even a team practice, just a bunch of us flying around.”

“Eponine will knock you off your broom and laugh. In front of the whole school.” And Jehan crossed his arms. 

“That sounds like it has a high likelihood of injury,” Combeferre replied, removing his glasses and polishing them on his robe. 

“You’ll send Joly into hysterics,” Jehan replied. 

“And you know how I hate hysterics,” Joly came in, smiling. “Especially mine.” He catalogued Combeferre’s rumpled and sleep-deprived appearance and clicked his tongue. “If you contract influenza today because of your weakened immune system, I’m not coming near you for a month.” 

Combeferre replaced his glasses and arched an eyebrow with a dry expression. “And we all know what a tragedy that would be.” When Joly gave him a blank, somewhat hurt look, he stood up and went over, put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m kidding, Joly,” he said, and the younger boy smiled brightly, assured. “And I promise I’ll be fine. My immune system is hardly affected-”

“You’d be surprised. Lack of sleep actually does weaken your immune system to a number of diseases. Most of these you would classify as trivial, but when left untreated (as would be your way, don’t even try to deny it) they can become quite serious and can sometimes result in severe loss of strength or even-” and that was the moment Jehan’s hand stopped Joly’s speech, clamping down tightly over his mouth. 

“We’ll meet you down at breakfast,” he said, by way of dismissal, nodding towards the stairs up to their dormitories. Then he grasped Joly’s hand and pulled him towards the door out of the tower. Combeferre went up to change his robes. 

He didn’t make it to breakfast, convincing himself he wasn’t hungry as he ran across the grounds to the pitch, blue robes disheveled and hair flying. 

“What kept you?” Jehan said quietly, as soon as Combeferre entered the locker rooms. And Combeferre blushed when he told him nothing. 

(Because in reality, he had remembered another auditory portion of his dream from the previous night and he had needed a minute.)

Combeferre gave some kind of pep talk before they lined up to walk out onto the field, but by the way Jehan was blushing while trying to look attentive, it was awful. Combeferre didn’t care much – Enjolras was the speechmaker, everyone knew that, even if they weren’t on his team – but it was still rather embarrassing. He closed in a lame fashion and then gestured to the locker room door. He followed his team out. 

Combeferre was the keeper of the Ravenclaw team. He was the Captain as well, but he really only used that for scheduling practices. He also gave constructive criticism and gave the final word on all team additions, but in general the whole team had say in decisions. They designed the plays they used together, decided what plays to use together, and had more team meetings than anyone but Gryffindor (which lived in almost a perpetual state of meeting, thanks to Captain Enjolras). And it had worked well for them – especially since Jehan had joined. And Combeferre loved Quidditch and flying and he had a great tem put together. There was almost no way they were losing this last match before the final. Not unless something seriously awry occurred. 

And Combeferre was already in the air when he realized such a thing was possible. 

“Oi! Captain!” someone shouted, and Combeferre couldn’t decide why the voice caused him such a visceral reaction (his stomach had tightened the moment he heard it) until he looked around and realized. 

“ _Eponine?_ ” he said back, surprised. Because the girl with the green robes, the tightly secured hair and the wicked (and somehow terribly sexy) look on her face was most _definitely_ the subject of his dream this morning. And now that he lay eyes on her, nearly the entire dream came back in his head, flashing images in his mind’s eye. And for once, Combeferre was almost sure Courfeyrac would be proud. 

“You look a bit flustered this morning, Captain. Everything alright?” Eponine was closer now, an innocent look in place over her features. Her voice was dangerously close to that purr thing that had woken him this morning and _Combeferre needed to get away from her now_. 

But these were his goal posts. He couldn’t leave, because they needed protecting. If someone was going to leave it was going to have to be Eponine. 

He sighed quietly to himself and scanned the field. The quaffle was being handled by one of his chasers, down by the opposite goal posts. Technically, Eponine should be with her two chaser friends, trying to retrieve it. But as Cosette covertly elbowed the quaffle out of his chaser’s hands (no easy feat; Andrea had an tight grip), he realized that Eponine was technically unneeded. And if she was unneeded, that meant that Cosette had planned for this. And if Cosette had planned for this, that meant that Eponine was over here for a reason. 

And that was the moment that Combeferre, in all of his wisdom, decided that _two could play at this game_. Even if he was nearly 100% positive that he was going to be terrible at it. 

“Well, if I’m flustered, I certainly have reason to be,” he said smoothly, his eyes still on the field. 

“Do you?” Eponine asked, leaning lazily on her broom and smiling at him. It was a terrible smile and he had to take a deep breath even though he wasn’t looking directly at it. 

“O, assuredly,” he strived for airiness and was afraid he failed until he heard a bark of laughter from her direction. He half-turned her way, an eyebrow raised. 

“You wouldn’t mean me now, would you, Captain?” and she gave him a near-stopping smile. And nearly all of Combeferre’s rational thought processes were obliterated for a moment until – 

“ _10 POINTS TO SLYTHERIN!!_ ” and the crowd roared beneath him. And Combeferre looked around to find Cosette waving at him, a sly smile on her face. And that’s when he decided that this was war. 

Although as the war wore on, it became clear he was going to lose. It also became apparent that Eponine wasn’t enjoying herself. Combeferre was adept at reading people (a learned skill from being Enjolras’ friend for nearly six years) and Eponine was miserable, playing this game. No matter how many seductive smiles she threw his way. 

It was at this point that Combeferre switch from merely combating her flirtatious banter to actually complimenting her. He could tell she couldn’t tell the difference. Something about that made him sad. 

And Slytherin was up by sixty by the time Jehan caught the snitch. Ravenclaw secured victory and with one final, genuine smile thrown Eponine’s way, Combeferre hit the ground. 

Jehan gave him a questioning look on the way to the locker room, which he waved away. Joly burst in five minutes later, listing the amount of symptoms Combeferre had exhibited during the game and how that certainly meant his lack of sleep had led him into the contraction of a deadly disease. Combeferre calmed him with a simple hand on his shoulder and an assurance that he was indeed fine – just having an off day. And after that Joly let Bossuet lead him out of the locker room, a smile on his face. Twenty minutes after that, Jehan finally left him alone in the locker room. Until, thirty seconds after that, he peeked back in. 

“Whenever you’re ready, ‘Ferre, Cosette would like an audience with you,” he said and his eyes telegraphed _be afraid_.

And Combeferre sighed as the door closed, almost positive as to what this was going to be about. Then he picked up his broom and made to exit the locker room. 

He didn’t even make it through the door, as Cosette attacked him halfway through. He dropped his broom at once, his hands circling her waist and trying to gently push her far enough away that his face would be out of range of her fingernails. 

“ _You absolute fucking douchebag_ ,” she screeched. “ _What did you say to her? She’s closed me completely out! WHAT DID YOU SAY??_ ”

And Combeferre sighed. “I merely complimented her, played this terrible game you two set up…” And she looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, stricken. 

“O, fuck. I knew this was a terrible idea,” she said in an almost whisper to herself. Then she met his eyes. “Put me down please.”

Once she was firmly back on the ground, she set her hands on her hips and sighed. “If you must know, she came up with the plan to distract you. I tried to dissuade her, but she was convinced that it would add to our chance of winning if she spent the game messing with you…” She pursed her lips, looking a little bit sad. “You have to understand she’s not used to compliments. She is the way she is not because she’s a mean-spirited person, but because her parents are an absolute nightmare… I knew you’d respond to her little game with genuine compliments, nice things that you _actually_ thought about her. And I fucking told her this, but God knows she doesn’t listen. And now she’s probably pilfering money from the girls in our dormitory or making out with _Montparnasse_ and this is all because she doesn’t know how to take a compliment…”

But Combeferre hadn’t heard anything after ‘Montparnasse’, as some ridiculous roaring filled his ears. And Combeferre hadn’t truly realized how much he actually _liked_ Eponine until he was suddenly mind numbingly _jealous_ of Montparnasse.

“O, dear. I seem to have angered you,” Cosette said, in a near drawl. And when he met her gaze, she was giving him a wry smile. “Did you seriously not know?” And at his confused look, she snorted. “O, you’re as bad as Enjolras.” 

But he was on the move now, halfway out of the door before she called “I’d check the dungeon, by the Potions classroom, if I were you.” And Combeferre merely waved courteously over his shoulder, showing her that he had heard. And then he was tearing into the castle. 

“Oi! What are you…doing?” he went from a yell to a gentle, indoor voice when he found her. She wasn’t making out with Montparnasse or pilfering money from the other girls. Eponine was, in fact, curled up behind a statue glaring up at him as though he had stabbed her. 

“Jesus. Does anyone understand the meaning of _leave me the fuck alone?_ ” she spat with venom. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I don’t want any fucking _company_. I want you to go away,” she scowled up at him with threats on his life in her eyes. “ _Get the fuck away from me._ ”

“I will, I promise,” he said gently, “but first I just want you to hear something.” And he made to kneel, but her glare stopped him. He hovered somewhere between kneeling and standing as he said, softly, with as earnest a gaze as he could muster (this was Combeferre, it was pretty damn earnest), “You know I meant it. Everything I told you. I meant those things.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s kind of the problem, dipshit,” she said. 

“But it shouldn’t be a problem,” he sighed, straightening. Her eyes followed him warily. “I know it won’t help… But I genuinely think that you’re amazing. And I wish you could _see_ that...” He shrugged, “Or at least, maybe…kind of see yourself the way that…well, I guess the way that _I_ see you.” 

Her eyes were narrowed. “What the… What are you saying?” Combeferre was half-turned to leave, but he stopped as she spoke. He met her gaze and underneath a layer of hostility he saw something child like hope. He turned back to her. 

“What do you think I’m saying?” he asked carefully. And she glared at him again. 

“Don’t be difficult,” she said lowly. And he grinned. And she turned away, looking disgruntled. “How… How exactly do you see me?” 

And he paused gently until she looked up at him again, meeting his warm smile with a look of cold trepidation. “I see you… Like you are, I guess. Smart, brave, beautiful.”

“You’re lying,” she said sharply. 

“I promise you, I’m not,” he said simply. And she glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Why are you being so nice?” she asked. And Combeferre was severely reminded of Grantaire at eleven wondering why anyone would offer to help with his Herbology homework. (“Why are you being nice to me?” he had asked, a frown marring his face. “Why wouldn’t I be nice?” Combeferre had replied simply. And, since they had both been eleven, that had been that between them.) 

“Why wouldn’t I be nice?” Combeferre found himself repeating. And Eponine’s eyes, though striving for unaffectedness, fell short, showing surprise. It made something in Combeferre’s chest hurt. 

“I…” she trailed off weakly, looking rather defeated. Combeferre crouched then, so that he was closer to her level. 

“That was a rhetorical question, Eponine. I’m nice because people deserve it. You, especially deserve it. You’ve never said a truly mean-spirited word to me in your life.” 

She snorted. “Not to your face.” And he found himself grinning in spite of himself. 

“I… And I know you’re a good person. Of course I’m going to be nice.” And Eponine was glaring at him again. 

“I suppose you think that me hearing this is going to make me believe everything that you just said,” she said, challenging. “That it’s going to _fix_ me.”

And Combeferre merely shrugged. “Not at all. You’ll be your own savior one day, probably. I just thought it would be nice to hear, maybe.”

And she just stared at him. “Me? My own savior?” 

He nodded, completely serious. “Of course.”

And then she was smiling, finally, a breathtaking thing that Combeferre couldn’t help but stare at. And Eponine surged forward and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled away, he became very conscious of the fact that he was bright red. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “for saying that.”

Combeferre nodded. “No problem.”

She stood and then held out a hand, which he gently took and then allowed her to pull him upright. When she thought he wasn’t looking, a brash look came over her face.  
“Hey Combeferre?” she asked and he met her gaze, making sure to be attentive. “I could use some help. With Potions homework. And you’re the smartest guy I know and…yeah.”

“I can help you,” he replied, shrugging. “I’d like to help you.” And her lips twisted a little. “With your Potions. And other schoolwork, if you have…any.”

She nodded seriously. “That would be nice.” And then, without another word, she turned and began walking away. And Combeferre didn’t stop her, not even to ask her where they could meet up for whatever weird kind of tutoring this sounded like. 

He figured, when the time was right, if she wanted him to find her, she’d be found.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. I have to get started on writing the actual dates, don't I? Now that I've kind of introduced three of the couples. Ah, well. They should be fun. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, beautiful person, and I hope you have a wonderful day! Or night! Or week! Whichever. You choose the one you need most. :)


End file.
